


Common Cold

by TheBrilliantDarkness



Category: Marvel
Genre: Illnesses, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrilliantDarkness/pseuds/TheBrilliantDarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his healing factor ruined by the Heat pills, Daken catches an incredibly frustrating cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as AU (ignoring anything after Daken: Dark Wolverine #20) or as preceding the events of Daken: Dark Wolverine #21. 
> 
> Originally written for the X-Men Comics Kink Meme (original can be read [here](http://xcomics-kink.dreamwidth.org/473.html?thread=2521)) - this is a revised version so some minor alterations have been made to grammar, phrasing, etc. There’s also less graphic illness description in this version to make it vaguely more palatable to a wider audience (though, I have a revised version with a couple of better ‘graphic’ descriptions than the original if anyone’s into that~).

Daken tried to lead a life free of regret. Regret served only to make a man lose focus on his goals, made one weak and pathetic.

But, as he lay miserably cocooned in a comforter, frequently wiping at his incessantly running nose with a now slimy forearm, Daken couldn’t help but indulge himself.

He really fucking regretted taking those Heat pills.

The pills had damaged his healing factor to the extent that he had fallen sick with none other than the common cold. Daken had never been ill before in his life, never afflicted with something so painfully... _ordinary_. And, as it turned out, having a cold was an entirely unpleasant affair.

The disease had crept up on him gradually. The man whose flat he was currently residing in had been snuffly when Daken fucked him into the bed on the first night of their meeting, but such things had never been potential problems in the past. Alas, Daken had awoken the next day with a vaguely stuffy feeling in the bridge of his nose, his usually excellent sense of smell blunted somewhat – annoying and inexplicable, but tolerable. A couple of days later, the symptoms were unbearable and infuriating; his nose was either entirely blocked, leaving him to breathe out of his dry mouth and hack up phlegm, or else it was streaming continuously. Daken had endured many types of torture in his lifetime, but found himself unable to recall one that had been nearly as frustrating as having a cold.

Daken had killed the man who gave him the cold on the third day of his suffering. Curled up in his snotty blanket burrito a day later, Daken somewhat regretted the decision; now he had no one to cook for him or to whinge to or to go and fetch more cold and flu medication and tissues, and he couldn’t bring himself to face the outside world. He looked awful, for one thing, and his sense of smell was completely shot. No; he would have to ride out his cold alone and without the need of any more silly human medication.

A tickling sensation rose in Daken’s nose and he lifted his hand in time to catch the worst of the sneeze that came.

‘This is disgusting even for me,’ he conceded in his head. Unable to find the motivation to move and hunt for a usable tissue (not as if there were any left, anyway) Daken wiped his hand on the dirty bed sheet and grumbled miserably.

A loud thud originating from the living room made Daken jump a little and tense – having severely muffled super senses was so unpleasant. He tried to sniff and catch the scent of whoever – or whatever – the intruder might be, but instead his nose just made a hollow gurgling sound and provided him with no sensory feedback. Still, he could discern footsteps - but, too miserable to move, Daken just retreated fully under his comforter and grumbled to himself. He was in no mood to be dealing with anyone.

The door latch went and the ‘intruder’ stepped into the room.

“Daken?” came an uneasy, familiar voice.

Daken groaned unhappily.

The last person he wanted to see right now was Wolverine. The old man must’ve got his scent and come to investigate.

“Daken, what the hell’s goin’ on here?”

“Go away.” Daken replied grumpily from his place under the comforter. He didn’t even have it in him to be snarky or angry.

“Why the hell’re you under all those blankets?” Wolverine paused and glanced around at the numerous disused tissues littering the floor, at the unpleasant stains on the linen of the bed. “Are you... _ill_?”

Daken thought hard about being a petulant little shit and waiting until Wolverine got frustrated enough to just attack him or start shouting. However, he decided that what he really wanted was more medication at that point, so he decided to play the pity card.

Daken crawled out from beneath the blanket pile, looking very sorry for himself.

“Shit, son,” Wolverine grunted. “Ya look awful. The hell’s wrong with ya?”

“Just a cold,” Daken replied, sniffing loudly. When Wolverine looked like he wanted an explanation of just how he caught a cold, Daken continued: “Can you get me some tablets?”

Wolverine looked as if he was considering it for a moment, but then shook his head.

“Son, I’ve seen the body o’ the man you killed in the other room. Ya can’t go ‘round –“

Wolverine was cut off by Daken sneezing rather impressively over his uniform.

Daken wiped his nose on his forearm and looked up imploringly at his father (well, as imploringly as one can look when they have rheumy eyes and snot dripping down their chin).

“Get me some medicine for it?” he requested again, amping up his pheromones (‘at least they still work’). Wolverine still looked uncertain and was about to continue his lecture, when: “Please, dad.”

Wolverine’s resolve crumbled.

“Yeah... yeah, alright. But when I get back, don’t think you’ve got outta talkin’ about that poor guy in there.” He paused. “Do ya need anything else?”

Daken listed off a few more items (soup and tissues among them), and Wolverine obediently rushed off to gather them.

Still miserable, but smug about his victory, Daken settled back under his comforter. If being this sick had afforded him what he was going to count as a victory against his father, he could handle it.

Another vicious sneeze came out of nowhere.

Daken pouted and grumbled. Wolverine had better hurry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of vomiting in this chapter, just so you're warned~

Daken clung weakly to the toilet bowl, body trembling as he retched and emptied his stomach. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his skin, and he groaned miserably when he was finished being sick, resting his head against his sticky forearm despondently.

“Shh,” Logan soothed, running a hand up and down his son’s back, holding the longer parts of Daken’s mohawk back with the other as the sick man started to heave again. “That’s it. Get it all out.”

Daken vomited into the toilet again. When he was done, he whimpered, shoved weakly at his overbearing father. He hadn’t _asked_ Wolverine to stick around after he’d done his shopping for him, but he certainly hadn’t whinged when he’d stayed and made him soup and kept his distance, remaining in the apartment, but not pushing his company on his sick son.

Ordinarily, Daken wouldn’t have tolerated Wolverine in his territory without seriously kicking off – but why waste a perfectly good servant for the duration of his illness?

Unfortunately, when Daken’s sickness had taken a bad turn, Logan had become a little more hands-on, fussing over his son as he was overcome by nasty hallucinations, staying close by at all times to monitor Daken’s fevers.

The cold had developed into full on flu, and Daken was having a bad enough time with it without Wolverine smothering him with care and worry at all hours.

“You feel any better?” Logan asked gently, smoothing back his son’s sweat-soaked hair. Daken turned to him, still shaking and taking deep, ragged breaths. Their eyes met - Logan’s reflecting adoration and concern, Daken’s too rheumy and half lidded to clearly convey anything. “C’mon, kid, let’s get you back to bed.”

Logan made to get up, but Daken clutched at his father’s arms and fell against him. Logan looked down at him, puzzled and worried, and then Daken promptly puked into his father’s lap.


End file.
